"I'll tell you what it is, doctor; I've made up my mind, and I'll do it. I'll send for Fillgrave."
"Very well," said he of Greshamsbury, "send for Fillgrave. Your case is one in which even he can hardly go wrong."
"You think you can hector me, and do as you like because you had me under your thumb in other days. You're a very good fellow, Thorne, but I ain't sure that you are the best doctor in all England."
"You may be sure I am not; you may take me for the worst if you will. But while I am here as your medical adviser, I can only tell you the truth to the best of my thinking. Now the truth is this, that another bout of drinking will in all probability kill you; and any recourse to stimulus in your present condition may do so."
"I'll send for Fillgrave—"
"Well, send for Fillgrave, only do it at once. Believe me at any rate in this, that whatever you do, you should do at once. Oblige me in this; let Lady Scatcherd take away that brandy bottle till Dr Fillgrave comes."
"I'm d–––– if I do. Do you think I can't have a bottle of brandy in my room without swigging?"
"I think you'll be less likely to swig it if you can't get at it."
Sir Roger made another angry turn in his bed as well as his half-paralysed limbs would let him; and then, after a few moments' peace, renewed his threats with increased violence.
"Yes; I'll have Fillgrave over here. If a man be ill, really ill, he should have the best advice he can get. I'll have Fillgrave, and I'll have that other fellow from Silverbridge to meet him. What's his name?—Century."